


High Bid

by mitzvahmelting



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Actor!Jack Napier, Alternate Universe - Theatre, BDSM, Companionable Snark, Consent Ethics, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Porn With Plot, Safeword Use, Technical Director!Bruce Wayne, Wax Play, this was part of a much bigger broadway!AU project that dracze and i had worked on, we never actually wrote the full AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/pseuds/mitzvahmelting
Summary: Excerpt from an unfinished Broadway AU.  In which Jack and Bruce have been together for like six months.They have very different interests in the bedroom, and they try to accommodate each other.





	High Bid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DracoMaleficium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoMaleficium/gifts).



> For everyone else, here's what you need to know to read this
> 
> Bruce's parents were famous Broadway stars when they were cut down in their prime by a gunman when Bruce was 12. Bruce was raised by Alfred (who, if I recall correctly, was a lighting designer?) and grew up in the Broadway community. Bruce became a very talented technical director, and he's working on a show that Jack is starring in, and they get together. Now they've been together for like 6 months. Cue fluff and domestic banter and implied mental health issues.

Bruce is taking lighting design notes at the table in the kitchen – he’d finally gotten his head on straight to really _focus_ and write out all of his ideas, and he’d really prefer not to be interrupted – when Jack, of course, interrupts him.

“I want to do _this,_ ” Jack announces, sitting himself on the table in front of Bruce and brandishing his smartphone eagerly.

“Jack, we _eat_ here,” Bruce mumbles before looking at the screen and – “No,” he says, succinctly, and turns back to his laptop.

Jack pouts, scoots closer to Bruce (and probably intentionally spreading his legs a bit in the process.)  “Oh, c’mon… you didn’t even look.”

“I looked.”

“No, you’ve gotta really – Bruce, Brucie, this is _art,_ here, you have to look at it for more than two seconds.  Appreciate it, and stuff.”

Glaring at Jack, but mostly wanting to just play along to convince Jack to leave him alone as soon as possible, Bruce looks at the phone more closely.

It’s a short video on repeat, showing a… an erect penis, ejaculating around a lit birthday candle inside its…urethra. In black and white. Which is probably what Jack meant, about it being “art”.

And admittedly the image itself does make Bruce shiver a bit, hopefully not noticeable under his sweatshirt, but even then, it sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s going to do this to Jack. Which is exactly what Jack’s asking for, which – god, why did he ever fall in love with this man. Jack is watching him eagerly, feet swinging and brushing the floor.

“No,” Bruce says again, which, of course, sets off the avalanche.

“But _Bruce,_ ” Jack croons, slipping off the table and to his knees on the floor, slyly parting Bruce’s legs to slip between them and paw at Bruce’s clothes _,_ “It’ll be _fun_ …”

“It won’t.”

“Sure it will! Can’t you see it?” Jack sighs, lays his head against Bruce’s thigh dreamily.  “You could stick this in me, plop a roll of sushi on my chest, and you’ve got yourself a romantic candlelit dinner!”

Bruce takes a short breath and holds it, tries to keep still as Jack’s nose nudges closer and closer to the seam of Bruce’s pants. “Oh my God, Jack,” Bruce mutters, which has basically been his catchphrase for the past six months.

“Fine,” Jack says with a shark grin, “How about a compromise?”

“You conniving little shit,” says Bruce before he can help himself, and Jack grins wider at the exasperated affection in Bruce’s tone, “Are you trying to haggle me? That was your high bid?”

“Depends,” says Jack, and then he’s reaching into Bruce’s athletic pants. He takes an exaggerated sniff of Bruce’s groin (Bruce hadn’t showered after his run, okay, he’d been in the zone, he was inspired to do his work, there was no time for a shower).  Whatever he smells, it pleases Jack, who makes a sound that should only exist inside porn.  Then he says, “What’s your low bid?”

“This isn’t fair, J.”

Jack’s got Bruce’s semi in his long fingers now, pulling him out of his pants underneath the table. “Hush now, Daddy’s got you,” he says.

“ _Jack_ ,” Bruce groans, mortified, “Why. Why are you like this.”

Jack gives a few kitten licks to the head of Bruce’s cock, which makes Bruce’s knees flinch in pleasure.  Then he looks up at Bruce expectantly, and prompts again, “Low bid.”

“Um,” says Bruce, and he can’t help it, he bites his lip as he looks down at his lover, looking handsome and manipulative and just absolutely _stunning._ He tries to think of what he could do to drag the eventual compromise away from something that will actually cause Jack pain.  “Feather play.”

“Candle in my ass,” Jack counters, and hollows his cheeks to suck on the tip.

Bruce stifles a moan, lets his knees fall open wider to give Jack more access. “Edging.”

“Spanking,” replies Jack, and he’s palming himself through his pajama pants.

Bruce watches Jack touch himself and feels himself flush.  It’s always… it’s always been particularly erotic to watch Jack in pleasure… especially with his lips around Bruce’s cock.  “Uh,” Bruce grunts, “Blowjob.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrow, and his fingers tighten around the base of Bruce’s cock.  “Flogging,” he counters.

“What? That’s – that’s worse than the last one.” Bruce complains.

“Yours couldn’t even be categorized as a _scene.”_

Bruce winces as Jack’s fingers tighten around him. “Right,” he finally says, “that’s fair. Um. Collars. Petplay.”

Jack pauses, looks up at Bruce through his lashes like he’s actually considering the offer, like maybe it hadn’t occurred to him. But he’s clearly here on a mission, and he refocuses, licks a long stripe up Bruce’s cock, catching a bead of precum and savoring it in a way that makes Bruce want to shove his head in a pillow and scream, it’s so hot.  Jack wiggles his hips and sits up more, smiling greedily and looking into Bruce’s eyes. “Waxplay.”

“You already said that.”

“No, I mean… dripping wax.  No orifices.”  He’s tugging on Bruce’s cock as he says this, trying to drive Bruce close enough to the edge that he might agree with something he otherwise wouldn’t. Bastard.

Bruce tries, tries to think of something that could be a counteroffer, but he’s running out of tame ideas and he’s getting close to coming.  “Um,” he says, and Jack just shows more teeth.  “Um.”

“Waxplay,” Jack says again, and puts his mouth on Bruce, pushing low until he’s got half of Bruce’s length entirely inside his mouth and pressing against the back of his throat.

“God _fuck,_ ” Bruce says, and he covers his face with his hands, “Fine. Fine, damn it.”  Jack is about to pull off to reply, but Bruce lands a hand in Jack’s hair – gently but firmly – and he says, “No, please. Don’t stop.”

Because he can’t smile in this position, Jack shows his triumphant glee by grazing his teeth against Bruce’s skin, and the sharp, surprising pain of that drags Bruce over the edge.

 

That’s how Bruce finds himself about an hour later, staring at Jack’s naked body luxuriously stretched over the kitchen linoleum.  Bruce is still wearing his pants; he’s a little worried that Jack is cold with all of his skin pressed up against the fake tiles. But Jack had said they should do it here, because the kitchen will be easier to clean if they spill wax anywhere.  And he hadn’t said this, but Bruce can infer, that the temperature difference between the linoleum and the wax will make it hurt more, and therefore increase Jack’s enjoyment of the scene.

“Can we,” Bruce says, killing time, “can we put lotion on you, first? They said that might prevent any burns, and it’d cool the wax before it hits your skin directly.”

Jack says, “No, just like this,” and leaves it at that.  Bruce sighs, glances down at the paraffin candle. That had been a whole other haggling conversation, about which candle to use, and maybe it’s fair that since Bruce got Jack away from the glass jar candles, Jack can get away with putting the wax on bare skin.

“Right,” says Bruce. “Where do you want it?”

Jack sighs, pleased, and thinks through it.  “My chest… my arms, my tummy, my thighs…  my cock, if we get that far.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“I said, if we get that far. Keep an open mind, darling.”

No, Bruce wants to say, because it’ll burn you… but he holds back.  He thinks that’s probably part of the fantasy, for Jack. It might take away if he knows Bruce won’t let the wax touch him there… and Bruce… Bruce doesn’t want to take away from the fantasy. He wants Jack to get all that he wants out of this experience.

Truth is, he doesn’t quite understand Jack’s pain kink, but he does love Jack, and… he wants. He wants to pleasure him. So.

Jack’s fingers find Bruce’s hand, and he looks up at Bruce. “I do love you,” he says.

“Yeah,” Bruce snorts, sardonically. “You better.”

Jack grins back, and nods at the matchbox. “Alright,” he says, “Light ‘em up, baby.”

He strikes the match and brings it to the wick of the pale candle.  The fire is bright, in their dark kitchen, where the only other source of light is the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds.  Bruce just watches it for a moment, because the wax has to melt first, and also because it reminds him of evenings spent in front of the fireplace at Alfred’s townhouse in the suburbs.  He remembers, before getting into the mechanics of lighting design, spending hours studying fires, and their reflections in mirrors.

“I forgot how cool this is,” is what he says to Jack, who gives Bruce a queer look but doesn’t comment.

And a few more moments go by, and Jack is getting a bit restless.  He reaches for Bruce’s hand again, “Come on, hit me. I’m ready.”

“Hush,” Bruce says, brushing a hand down the fine hairs of Jack’s chest.  Bruce’s grin turns a bit snarky as he brings the candle closer, “Daddy’s got you.”

He dips the candle over, and a few drops fall onto the center of Jack’s chest.  Jack tenses, takes a deep breath, and Bruce waits, hesitates. But Jack exhales, satisfied, and he opens his eyes and says “Jesus fuck, you’re sexy.”

“I know,” Bruce says, and Jack halfheartedly swats at him.

“Gimme another, come on,” Jack whines, and Bruce leans over him again, starts dripping a line up one of Jack’s thighs. The outside, of the thigh, with fewer nerve endings, but still enough sensation for Jack to give another satisfied sigh.  He says, “I’m gonna start taunting you if you keep going this slow.”

“How do you know I’m not already going slow just to taunt you?”

“Touché,” mumbles Jack.  Hot little dots of wax begin to fall up his other thigh, only breaking off once it reaches his hip bone. “Want you to do the insides of the thighs,” he adds.

Bruce shakes his head, “Chest first.”

“Whatever you say, Daddy.”

Bruce shivers, holds the candle a little higher above Jack to let the wax cool on the way down.  He starts running lines down from Jack’s collarbones to the insides of his hips, slow little lines of dots. Jack’s breathing sounds a bit harsher, but he’s forcing himself to keep his breathing steady for Bruce’s sake. On the one hand, Bruce appreciates the courtesy, but it bothers him in a gut-churning way that he doesn’t actually know if Jack is in pain or not.

Still. Those two lines complete, he whispers, “Nipples?” and Jack smiles, moans through his teeth and squirms against the floor.

“Yes, please,” Jack whispers back, and Bruce is getting hard now. Just watching how much Jack is enjoying this.

And then Jack’s gasp is sharp when the wax falls against his left nipple and Bruce flinches. “Sorry, should have held the candle higher,” he says immediately, but Jack reaches out to take his hand.

“It’s good,” says Jack, “do it again.” 

He doesn’t let go of Jack’s hand as he runs wax over the other side. Despite Jack’s assurances, he’s careful to lift the candle a bit higher. Maybe not enough for Jack to notice the difference.  Jack’s breathing remains steady, but he squeezes Bruce’s hand a bit, and it… cuts Bruce. It makes him feel… it makes him feel things.

“Do the other one again?”

“Jack,” says Bruce, but there’s not really an end to that sentence.

“No, baby, you don’t understand,” Jack breathes, “it feels _good._ ” He wobbles his hips a bit to make his point, showing off his erection where it leans back against his stomach.

And Bruce can’t say no to Jack—that’s really the problem here, he just loves Jack, like this desperate feeling inside his gut that keeps him from thinking straight, because all he wants to do is love love love this man—so he spends time on Jack’s nipples, buries them in candle wax. No longer little pert tips but hot puddles of candle, beige and cooling and smooth.  It’s easier the third or fourth time around, because he doubts Jack can really feel it anymore through the layers, besides this moist heat that’s different from the sharp pain of the initial drops.

And then he returns to Jack’s legs, because he feels a bit more confident, and Jack is moaning happily for him. And he’s ready to try Jack’s inner thighs.

He has to lean the candle closer to Jack to get the aim right, to make sure he doesn’t miss. This has Jack flinching at the heat, but he doesn’t scream or make noise, or even hold Bruce’s hand especially tight, so.

Bruce tries to go slower.  He doesn’t want to make a mistake, that’s the biggest part of this.  His heart is a little faster in his chest, and his pants feel tight. He wants to kiss Jack. Drip, drip.

“Fu-uck,” Jack breathes, his mouth curling into a sinful smile.

Bruce swallows. Drip, drip. “Yeah?” he says, “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah.”

He just wants Jack to keep looking like this, lost in pleasure. That’s all Bruce wants.  He wants to save this moment and revisit it every day for the rest of his life.  The amount of trust.  The love.

So Bruce says, “Do you want…” and lets the base of the candle brush against Jack’s balls.  Because.

Jack’s eyes open slightly, and he peers at Bruce.  “Really?” he whispers.

“Yeah.”

“God, I love you,” Jack mumbles, and squeezes Bruce’s hand, and shuts his eyes again.

Hazy and in love.

And it’s just the most goddamn beautiful thing Bruce has ever seen, and then.

Jack squeaks.  It comes out sharp, not too loud but definitely an involuntary sound.  Bruce pauses, watching his face. Was that too much? Is it time to—but Jack relaxes quickly, whistling on the exhale, like Bruce had just done something incredible.  Jack asks, hopefully, “Again?” and Bruce nods.

He starts dripping individual drops of wax around Jack’s balls, and then slowly, slowly, slowly up his shaft.  The sounds coming out of Jack are short, but consistent with every drop. Bruce tries to ignore it. He thinks he’s doing well, and Jack still looks like he’s in pleasure, he’s still smiling eagerly, waiting for the next drop.

And it’s fascinating to watch Jack’s cock twitch underneath the wax, the way the little bursts of heat arouse him.  Bruce wants to kiss him, and to kiss his cock, and—

Intrusive thoughts are aptly named.

It happens when the wax drips down onto the head of Jack’s cock, and Jack cries out.  It isn’t exactly the sound that does it, but the way Jack’s face turns into a grimace of pain, and suddenly… suddenly Bruce’s head is all ambulance sirens and screaming and his thirteen-year-old self demanding the paramedics drive faster, faster.

“Red,” he chokes out, and lets go of Jack’s hand, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  Sets the candle down hard, upright on the floor.

“It’s okay,” Jack breathes. His eyes are still shut, and he’s not quite smiling anymore, concentrating on keeping his breathing even.

Bruce regrets it. _Look at how patient he is, how patient he has to be to put up with me… ruining his sex at the last minute._ “I’m sorry,” he says again, too quickly, and Jack’s eyes are open now, seeking out Bruce’s hand again. Bruce offers it, sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” Jack says again, and then, “Will you help me up?”

He gets an arm behind Jack’s shoulders to lift him to a sitting position.  The wax cracks and bends with Jack’s body.  As soon as he’s more vertical, Jack wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck, and Bruce can feel the cool wax against his skin.  He shuts his eyes and breathes out against Jack’s shoulder.

Jack always puts aside his own reactions to a scene to comfort Bruce at the end, and that’s the other thing that drives Bruce to distraction.  The fact that Jack is so… kind.  “You’re too good to me,” he murmurs against Jack’s skin.

Jack laughs. It lets Bruce relax against him, press his mouth against Jack’s skin and sigh.  “I should be saying the same to you,” Jack says, “You gave me what I wanted.”

“Yeah, well,” mumbles Bruce, “I’m a pushover.”

“You’re my pushover.” Jack whispers back, nosing into Bruce’s hair. “You wanna…?” he asks, running his fingers down Bruce’s chest and lower, lower.

But Bruce is still seeing Jack’s face contorted with pain, he’s still feeling that spike of fear in his heart. “Is it alright… if we don’t?” he asks.

Jack frowns (it cuts Bruce up inside to see him frown.) And Jack is going to say something – is going to say, “It’s okay,” the same way he said it when Bruce safeworded, over and over again for as long as Bruce needs to hear it, but. That makes Bruce feel…

That makes Bruce feel guilty, so he cuts in before Jack can say anything else, “I mean. Can we take off the wax, first?”

There’s a heavy pause, where Jack just looks at him.

“Bruce.”

“What.”

And then Jack is kissing him.

Really kissing him. Shifting his position to be closer to Bruce. Pressing love into Bruce’s mouth. Quiet, quiet pleasure noises and fingers running through Bruce’s hair. And Bruce responds, cups a hand against Jack’s chin, pulls him closer.

Jack’s lips are warm, and it feels nice to close his eyes and just focus on the taste of Jack’s mouth against his.

And then Jack leans his forehead against Bruce’s, and he says, “New rules.”

“Yeah?”

Jack’s thumb caresses Bruce’s cheek. “What I want… doesn’t take priority… over what you need.”

Bruce shuts his eyes tight.

“I’ll say it again,” says Jack, and he’s just barely whispering now, and he wants Bruce to listen and – where the hell did Bruce find a guy like this. “What I want doesn’t take priority over what you need,” affirms Jack, and he presses a kiss to Bruce’s cheek.

And now Bruce isn’t thinking about ambulance sirens, about Jack in pain, about… any of that, anymore. Now he’s thinking about how much he loves this man. How much he wants to pleasure him – keep pleasuring him, again and again, forever.

Bruce flushes, pushes Jack’s hand away. “Shut up,” he says. His hearts going fast. His head’s reset.

“What?” asks Jack, laughing a little at the petulant expression on Bruce’s face. “What’d I do?”

“You’re…” and Bruce doesn’t really have a word for what Jack is doing to him, he isn’t really sure there is a word, so he says, “You’re being you, and it’s pissing me off.”

“What about me?” Jack grins.

“Your goddamn charm, is what.” He starts to stand up, pulling Jack up with him. “Put out the candle. I’m taking you to bed.”

Jack perks right up at that.  “You are?”

“Goddamn manipulative son of a bitch,” Bruce mutters, dragging Jack down the hall behind him. “Sitting there naked covered in candlewax talking to me like it’s our wedding vows.”

Jack snorts. “What can I say? I’m a charming man.”

“Get your ass in bed.”  

**Author's Note:**

> mostly i just wanted to post this because 1. it's good, and it was languishing in my hard drive because I forgot about it, and 2. I like how it approaches the question "under what circumstances would the dominant partner need to safeword?" and also "what if the partners want different things from sex?"
> 
> talk to me on [my tumblr](http://mitzvahmelting.tumblr.com)


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